


like you wanna be loved

by clexastories



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clexastories/pseuds/clexastories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke waited and waited because she had expected Lexa to come to her. She had to know she was a doctor, a healer. And she had to know that she just wanted to know she was okay.</p><p>Lexa didn’t come though, and so on the darkest hour of the night, Clarke grabbed the tin candle holder on her bedside table and quietly slipped into the hall. The flame cast dancing shadows on the century-worn walls, and her nightgown swished loudly in the otherwise silent corridor.</p><p>She had found Lexa’s quarters before upon exploring the tower in her free time–also done to piss off the suspicious guards trailing her during her early days here. So she found them easily again, staring defiantly at the warriors posted outside the door.</p><p>“Heda sent for me,” she declared. “I need to tend to her injuries.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	like you wanna be loved

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "After the sword fight clarke is the one who goes into lexa's room and lexa's entire body is hurting so she flinched when clarke hugs her. Cue angstiness and ' i was so afraid'"

Clarke waited and waited because she had expected Lexa to come to her. She had to know she was a doctor, a healer. And she _had_ to know that she just wanted to know she was okay.

Lexa didn’t come though, and so on the darkest hour of the night, Clarke grabbed the tin candle holder on her bedside table and quietly slipped into the hall. The flame cast dancing shadows on the century-worn walls, and her nightgown swished loudly in the otherwise silent corridor.

She had found Lexa’s quarters before upon exploring the tower in her free time–also done to piss off the suspicious guards trailing her during her early days here. So she found them easily again, staring defiantly at the warriors posted outside the door.

“Heda sent for me,” she declared. “I need to tend to her injuries.”

The warriors glanced doubtfully at each other, and Clarke lifted her chin, letting the mask of Wanheda harden her expression. The man on the right scowled at her but stepped aside regardless to let her pass.

She nodded her head in thanks as she pushed open the door.

The bedroom was dimly lit, only a few candles on either side of the bed still lit. Clarke’s breath caught when she saw Lexa seated in the far side of the bed, back to. Her skin glowed in the golden light, though red and purple bruises peeked out from the edges of the low-backed nightgown, evidence of the fight from earlier. The tattoo that cascaded down her back was as beautiful and sharp as the girl herself, and it captivated Clarke. Even so far away, she felt her hand reaching out, as if to trace the design–or maybe the curve of Lexa’s spine too.

Without looking, Lexa spoke. “Titus, I told you I’m f–”

Clarke cleared her throat. “It’s not Titus.”

Lexa’s fingers paused in combing through her hair, and it took her another beat to twist around on the bed. “What are you doing here Clarke?”

“Making sure you’re not dead.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Lexa’s face. “You were at the fight. You saw I won. You should have no reason to worry about my death.”

Clarke had to bite back the dozens of reasons why she had to worry about Lexa’s death, and that half of them had nothing to do with the alliance or her people or their safety. It was Lexa’s safety she was worried about too, more than she could say or understand, so she settled for replying, “Small injuries that are ignored can turn into big problems later. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Lexa’s eyes bore into her knowingly, almost in challenge. Clarke didn’t break under her gaze, however, so Lexa nodded slightly in acceptance.

She passed softly over, sat down beside her, and began prodding for injuries. Starting at the hips, she worked her way up Lexa’s sides, noting whenever she held back as gasp of pain or a hiss of discomfort. Those came far too often for her liking by the time she finished by pressing her fingers against the back of her skull. Luckily head injuries didn’t seem to be an issue, but Clarke didn’t say so.

Instead, she asked, “Who is monitoring you overnight?”

Lexa shrugged. “No one. I was not seriously injured–”

“You’re bruised on a third of your body.”

“Not life-threatening injuries. Just painful ones.”

“Don’t you have anything to ease the pain? And what about a concussion. You could–”

A soft hand came down to still Clarke’s anxious ones. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she insisted vehemently, noticing the way Lexa but her lip as her ribs no doubt protested her moving them even the slightest bit. “Why aren’t you asleep, or at least lying down? It’s so late.”

Lexa clenched her jaw, not answering.

“You can’t, can you? Not without help,” Clarke realized, half in triumph and half in sympathy.

“It is late. So why are you here?”

This time Clarke was the one to refuse answering, instead standing to lift Lexa’s legs onto the bed. She then helped her shift over with Lexa only sucking in a few pained breaths as she settled back into the blankets. Her eyes went wide when Clarke crawled into the bed beside her.

“Someone needs to make sure you don’t die in your sleep,” Clarke muttered. To her dismay, an amused smile grew on Lexa’s face.

For a moment, Clarke considered resting her head on Lexa’s shoulder, but she still moved with such precaution, as if waiting for another wave of pain, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, Lexa turned her head towards her, nestling into the pillow, and Clarke moved as close as she could until their arms brushed.

When Lexa’s fingers slowly intertwined with hers, her breath caught. Warmth bloomed in her gut, as well as the searing need to roll over, to feel Lexa’s own warmth underneath her, to feel her chest rise and fall with breath, to feel her heart beat underneath her bruised skin. Clarke needed to know she was alive, but she needed her to not be in pain, and so all she could do was squeeze her hand tightly. The pressure that returned on her own hand made her pulse stutter in relief and reassurance.

_Lexa was alive, alive, alive._

She watched as she drifted of to sleep, long lashes fluttering shut over pink cheeks. It was only when her breath was so slow, so steady, so soft with sleep that Clarke raised their clasped hands to her mouth. After pressing a gentle kiss to each of her scabbed knuckles, she whispered, “I was so afraid. I was so afraid I would lose you today.”

Then bringing their hands rest on the pillow between their heads, Clarke closed her eyes, finally able to let herself drift off, and so she missed the way Lexa’s lips tugged up contentedly, having heard every quiet, heartfelt word.


End file.
